Book of Days
by Nemesi
Summary: [DISCONTINUED] AL fic. NO AU! Post ROTK. Aragorn has passed, and Eldarion his son is now King. This is the tale of the desperate love Estel of Gondor and Legolas of Mirkwood shared, narrated by she who of Aragorn was the only wife: Arwen Undòmiel.
1. Memories

**_Title:_**_ Book of Days _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. _

**_Note:_**_ This will likely be a long series. I worked hard on this fic, searching sites and online encyclopaedias as well as my own books, and hopefully made it an Aragolas fic WITHOUT being an AU. Yup, without. Despite the couple this fic sports it fits (hopefully) into Tolkien's plot and timeframe. Sadly there's no tale of Legolas and Estel in the work of Mr. J.R.R.Tolkien though, and this is just what I, poor fanfic writer, would have liked to happen in the most beautiful Fantasy Story of all times to my favoruite characters. _

_But, as I said, this could be long. _

_Very long. So, I won't continue if you don't think it's worth it. _

**_Rating:_**_ R_  
  


_* * * * * _

Arwen Undòmiel sits in Lòthlorien, standing where the mirror of Galadriel was when Elves still dwelled in the golden woods. Rays of the setting sun seep through the shivering leaves and turn her whitened hair in flowing flames, her pale skin a shade of amber, her eyes glittering gems. A book sits on her lap as she stares in the West, and the quill she used to write down her last memories lies forgotten at her side, swaying gently in the breeze. 

Elessar her husband has passed. 

Eldarion her son has come to obtain his rightful place as King of Men. 

Legolas has sailed to the West, carrying with him the light that shone upon his brow, last of the Elves to walk Middle Earth. 

With a last sigh she rubs at her eyes with the back of her white hand, drying the moisture gathering at their corners. As she looks up, new tears swell up, and this time she lets them fall, even though only one single drop traces down her cheek, coming to a beautiful end on her chin, where skin becomes air. It dangles there a moment and then falls, leaving a glittering trail behind. Even as it splashes onto the grass she stands, cradling her book to her breast. She walks towards Cerin Amroth with the languor of those who're ready to leave life behind and there she lays herself, and makes that place her green grave forevermore. Her books she lays at her side, and as she releases her breath in one last sigh and is gone, a gentle breeze comes, and as if by its own volition the book opens itself; its pages tremble and flip to show the world her will one last time. 

_"My story was not mine to tell",_ it reads. And the world itself holds its breath as the Valar all come and peer through her last words. _"It may seem foolish, but that's the truth. It may be my story, but it was never mine to tell. Clever pens have been asked to narrate it, and they carefully took every piece of truth away from it and made it a gilded illusion, a fairy taleblossomed in the harshness of reality. But now, now that of all who played part in my story I alone remain, I am finally free to divulge the truth. And even though this parchment, these trees of silver and this breeze will be my only witnesses, I hope what I relate will not be lost and forgotten, but kept in heart and marvelled at by future generations. _

_Today so few know what true love is; the one thing that gives you strength enough to face death and life both with smug grins, that makes you willing to sacrifice anything and everything for that one single creature you hold dearest than your own self. Some say true love is an utopia, a mere illusion. Some say it's the foundation of life. And it is in this definition of love that my story finds its start. Because what I shall relate is but a tale of love. The greatest love ever, and of how it came to be, is what I'll relate. _

_It was the purest, and strongest emotion Ilùvatar had ever blessed Eä with, this love. It descended on our world as a ray of dazzling light, piercing the vicious shadows and bonding two together so close that they became one, at least in heart. It was something to venerate and marvel and protect, and yet it was hindered by so many I would often wonder if they were not all jealous, the Valar and the Elves and the Humans, of what Legolas and Estel shared. _

_Ai, how long it has been since I last allowed myself to pronounce those names together! It feels good, if not right, to finally be able to say them so, and with the gravity it deserves. Legolas and Estel. The Greenleaf and the Elfstone. The Prince of Mirkwood and the King of Men. He who I adored and he who I married. Star-crossed lovers in more than one meaning, their love survived the hardest trials; born in the innocence of human childhood, it blossomed in the shadows of a darkened world and strengthened in the very fires of Mordor. But something so wonderful had to be lived in secrecy, savoured in the shadows for the scorching light would have made naked prey of it, at least in the realm of Men, were love was sacred only as long as it remained into the mould they had for it. So, what was born in innocence and light and splendour had to live its last years in secrecy and shadows, and it was a shame.   
  
But it's well known that when darkness fall stars shine brighter, and indeed the star of Legolas and Estel's love shone brighter than a thousand of suns till the end. Untamed, untouched, and purer as ever. Hadn't Aragorn embraced his eternal sleep, it would still shine as bright as in its first day of life. _

_Every place would be good to start my story as any. The beginning of it is lost faraway in the past though, when Prophecies and Destinies and magical Mirrors of cold water still ruled this World. It was a dark time, even as it was filled with light. So, I'll forget about it, forget of any prophecy a Lady of the days of old may have seen in her mirror and start my tale from when Legolas and Estel first came to meet. _

_Estel was but a child at the time, unaware still of his true name and lineage. When he became seven of age Elrond my father, who kept the child as his own, sought the fair Prince of Mirkwood to teach the young human the art of war. It was the beginning of days of serenity and great joy. Days in which Estel became skilled not only on how to kill but why he should not do so. Days in which the line between good and evil stopped being blurred in his young eyes to shine bright red in the middle. Days in which the two Princes would play, and sing and train and above all be together and be happy. _

_But Estel grew, and did so quickly, for time does not pass humans by as it does Elves. And soon Legolas found himself teaching a young Man and no more a foolish child. And that Man was fair and noble and strong, and Legolas's heart was soon lost to him…" _

_* * * * _

The broken reflection of the moon played over the streaming azure of the river, casting translucent bows of light all across Legolas's face. He was sitting on the low branch of a huge tree, absurdly at ease on the precarious position, not straining to keep his balance, for Elves do not worry with such things as balancing themselves, being woven of the air itself. Beams of light painted his figure out of the twilight, the shivering shadows of the leaves abovehead stood sharp contrast over his white skin, and it was so beautiful it hurt. His eyes were half closed against the twinkling shafts of silver the Bruinen refracted; his feet dangled naked and free inches above the streaming waters. 

His eyes fell down as he lowered one foot, and he watched concentric ripple chase one another from where his toe touched the water.Countless flickers of starlight came to his irises as the ripples danced and trembled, but his eyes saw nothing, turned inwards as they were. His mind was lost faraway, narrowed to one single point of focus, and that was the cause of the frown that found residence on his pale face. 

"…Estel…" he sighed, and closed his eyes, and he was suddenly not a part of the forest anymore but something alien that tried to blend with it and did not succeed. Something living and grieving and astoundingly human for one that was not part of that kin. 

He breathed the name again, and it felt foreign on his lips, spoke with such gravity. He seldom allowed himself to pronounce that name with a weight divulging of his feelings, even when he was alone. But Estel was in his mind and heart constantly, and no one was there to ear him and wonder at his words, if not the trees, which Legolas knew would keep his secret, having known of it for longer than the Elf himself. 

"You love him, Legolas." the Elf said to the quivering face looking up at him from the Bruinen, or maybe it was it that spoke to him. As soon as the words were pronounced both Legolas and the reflection frowned. The Elf couldn't bear thinking of what such thing meant, were it true, but what was the reason of the reflection's frown he was not sure. So the Elf splashed his hand in the water, shattering the reflection in dozens of quivering fragments, hoping to have shattered feelings and words with it.   
  
"I… that's not true. I would never…I can't…" He swallowed, trailing off into unsettled silence, and for the longest moment he hoped –ached- to see his reflection open its mouth and tell him that feeling that claimed his heart was not love. No matter what he thought, what he felt for Estel was not love. It could not be. But to his own dismay when the waters settled and blue eyes looked up at him, they were just as confused as his own. Not only that, but the reflection had begun quivering, trembling, waving in front of his eyes with the sweet twilight breeze. But when the breeze dropped, running away toward farthest places, Legolas noticed –to his horror- that it wasn't his reflection the one that was shivering. 

It was him. 

And it wasn't for the bite of wind, powerless against an Elf such as he. 

It was because of him. 

Estel. 

Legolas reached out to finger his reflection, caressing it softly as if to comfort it and ease its tremors. 

"Why? Why are you in my mind?" he whispered to himself. "What did you do to me? Why can't I stop thinking about you…?" Legolas murmured in an exhalation, sliding his wet fingertips across his cheek. He let out a small sigh, and traced a wet line across his mouth. "Why do I love you?" 

"…Legolas?" 

The Elf swivelled around, his breath caught, and watched his heavenly torture materialized in front of his eyes. 

"Estel…" he murmured brokenly, tears gathering in his eyes even as he willed them away and smiled. "I did not expect to meet you here. What are you doing so far from the palace of Elrond? Surely not thinking to train at such a late hour? It is well after Midnight my friend, you'd better have some rest if you wish your mind to be wakeful in the morn." But Estel shook his head, biting his bottom lip, and the minute gesture alone was enough to make the young Man a powerless child. 

"I could not sleep." He admitted quietly, a trace of bitter sadness honing his low tenor. He nodded discreetly to where the Elf sat, and was relieved to see Legolas beckoning him close with a nod of his own. Estel strode forward, and in two steps was in front of Legolas. He stared at the Elf for a moment, watching as his friend and mentor would not meet his eyes, and then stumbled to the ground, graceless, as though deprived of any strength he may have possessed. 

"I just *couldn't* sleep." He repeated quietly. And then, when the Elf gave no answer, "I never could without you by my side." 

Legolas gave a laugh, but it sounded strangled, and even Estel, who was no Elf, recognized it for what it was: a chocked sob. 

"You're not a child anymore." Legolas reminded him gently. "You do not need to cling to my warmth as you did once." Estel nodded in agreement, turning to watch the water streaming by. 

"No, I may not need it anymore. I can keep my demons at bay and sleep on my own, because thanks to you there is no shadow or nightmare that I fear anymore. But—" he trailed off, sounding suddenly shy and incredibly young. Legolas turned toward him and watched as he plugged a blade of grass and rolled it between his fingers. "—even thought I don't have a reason anymore to need you by my side at night, I want you there. In my bed. In my arms." Legolas's sharp intake of a breath was just slightly louder than his normal breathing, but he was sure his heart could be heard thumping from a distance. 

"Estel…" he said sombrely, a hint of reprimand in his voice. Reprimand the Man would mistake as directed to his childishness, while in truth it was a mere plea. 

_//Don't play with my heart Estel. You would not ask me to hold you if you knew the feelings I keep for you. Don't make me hope while I can't. Don't take me high, only to shatter my glass wings when you'll have decided you want me not, if not as a friend.// _

The blade of grass was discarded, tossed sharply into the water, and the Man turned to gaze at the Elf. 

"I know. You think it foolish, but just for tonight… just for tonight sleep in my arms as we used to. Hold me like you did when I was a child. I know it is just from this morning that we do not share a room anymore. I know you said that an adult as I boast I am should stop sleeping curled up to you like puppy. But surely one more night will not do any harm…?" Estel's words faded into expectant silence, and Legolas could do little else but smile. He couldn't deny Estel. He never could, and deep inside he knew he never would. 

* * * * * 

_Little I know of what Estel thought that night, of what led him to invite Legolas to his bed, or of what was in his heart when he held the fair creature to him, very well knowing and dreading it was the last time he could do so. But I know well of what was inside Legolas's heart. It was a feeling that did not belong in his heart as well in any Elf's, but that both he and I know very well._

_Grief. _

_He grieved, because although he was in the arms of he whom he loved, the touch he received was brotherly, lukewarm, no different from the caresses a child would make his parent. They warmed him once, those caresses. They were the proof of little Estel's affection for him. The proof that the little one needed him and would not leave him by either chance or will. But that was not enough anymore. Even though Legolas did not want, yet, anything more than a communion of souls, those touches were swiftly becoming his bane. They would be the end of him, he knew. Not a brother's caresses, not a lover's. Estel's, but not. Wanted, but dreaded. Welcome, yet painful. _

_So he lied to rest in Estel's arms that night as any other: with tears in his eyes and grief in his heart. Oh, it seemed but yesterday to him that he had first gone to sleep with the honey-smelling burden that was little Estel in his arms. And then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he had woken up in the morning light with the strong arms of an adult about him. Held, and not holding anymore. With his face tucked under the Man's chin, his heart beating against Estel's as he was cradled; with the Man cocooning his body around him as though to protect the Elf from the very nightmares he himself feared when he was little. _

_And like all the other nights he could not sleep, Estel's scent tantalizing to his senses, and he would just lie there, gazing at the Man with utmost love. And when he was sure Estel was deep into the human sleep, only then he would dare touch him and let the tears fall, committing the feel of his love to memory. The texture of his skin and hair; his musky scent that held no trace of the honeybees' treasure anymore; the sound of his sleepy sighs, of his breathing pattern. And if he leaned close enough then the scent of Estel coated him so that he thought he could taste him on his tongue, and suddenly all was well. _

_But as he leaned into him that night, he could not help but touch his lips to Estel's forehead. _

_It was brief touch, and soft and pure, and yet it caused hundreds more tears to swell up in his eyes. He retreated hastily, seeking to flee from the warm heaven their intertwined bodies created, only to have his wrist grasped in a steel grip. He looked up, and amidst tears he caught glimpse of Estel staring at him, aghast. _

* * * * * 

"Legolas…" The Elf was startled, caught unaware. There was no veil shielding his eyes, no mask across his face, and his emotions raged like firestorms across his whole countenance. He tried to get a grasp of those emotions, to tame them and put them to sleep in the cage of his deepest heart, but to no avail. As a last resort he closed his eyes, long black lashes sweeping down onto pallid cheeks, but that resulted in Estel holding him closer, and closer still when the Elf did not react or move, and seemed unwilling to breath at all. Tears leaked through his lashes, shining like dewdrops on his face, and Estel took in the ethereal creature and his pain. A strange feeling seeped into his mind, making him lose his grip on reality. 

"Don't cry…" he whispered gently, and the last thing he knew he was pressing his lips to Legolas's cheeks, kissing the saltines there residing away, licking it and rolling it onto his tongue, raining countless kisses down the gentle sloping curve to the corner of Legolas's lips. 

* * * * * 

_And as he watched Legolas cry, his love for the Elf burst into sudden life, coursing through him like molten mithril, and a flaming bloom blossomed into his chest. He grieved at seeing those tears. He felt powerless to stop them. He was angered at he who dared causing Legolas to cry. Ashamed at himself for being unable to see the sorrow shining now like stars in the Elf's eyes. And above all, he grieved because he had no right to try and ease that pain. No right to hold the Elf as he was doing, or to desire him as he suddenly did._

_But he heed it not, the voices of warnings in his head, and surrendered himself to the sudden love for Legolas that threatened to overwhelm him. He did not resist it anymore, and let it carry him forward, and forward still, until his mouth met Legolas's and claimed it, marking the Elf as his and letting Legolas mark him as his own as well. It was their end and their beginning. Their hearts did not belong to them anymore, but Legolas's was now in Estel's hands, even as his own was willingly given to the Prince._

* * * * *

"Estel…" He could feel it, Legolas's heart. It beat madly, like the fluttering wings of a caged bird. It did so against Estel's own heart, and echoing it as well. It made him smile, the feeling of Legolas so close to him, and suddenly sorrow and anger and grief became bliss. He held Legolas to his chest and buried his nose in the sunlit hair, basking in the Elf's warmth. 

"…amin mela lle*." It was soft, barely above a whisper, and Estel did not realize he'd said it until his voice came into his own ears. He smiled at those words, at that truth, but Legolas's breath was instantly taken away. 

"Estel…?" 

"Amin mela lle." 

Tbc. 

***Amin mela lle = I love you**

**Was it any good? If you've got time, drop me a review and tell me what you think. I'm unsure whether I'll continues this or not, and would like to know what you people think! ^_^ **


	2. Falling Deeper In

**_Title:_**_ Book of Days _

**_Chapter:_**_ 02 - Falling Deeper In _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi -Nemesi82@hotmail.com _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. _

**_Note:_**_ Thankyou-thankyou-thankyou for your reviews! I love them!! *bows to the ground* I love you, minna-sama. You're all wonderful! Please, please, please keep telling me what you think of this work… _

**_Note: _**_Ergh… This is... short… and strange. Uhm… as my defence I can only say that I'm feverish, having gotten the blasted influenza. My throat aches, my head throbs, and my mind was not fully coherent when I wrote this down. ^_^;; _

**_Rating: _**_R  
  
  
_

_* * * * * _

_Both Legolas and Estel thought they knew happiness already. And unknown to the other each thought such feeling could not came to him if they were apart. Yet, nothing they'd felt before could ever compare to the bliss of being in love and together at last. Each day would be one of love and light for them, no matter how darkened the world was becoming under the slowly waking menace of Mordor. There were no more tears in Legolas's long nights, that were not long at all anymore now that he was free to live them with he whom he loved, and that loved him back. And when night gave way to the morning, each was both the same and yet a surprise. The fair Prince of Mirkwood had always deemed the instants barely before dawn as the gloomiest, because he would have to release Estel, leave his private dream of everlasting love and slip back on his mask of mentor and friend, his true feelings for the boy locked away. _

_But now those moments were the ones he cherished and loved the most. Moments in which Estel would be released from sleep, and still lost in the haze human dreams bring he would hold Legolas even closer to him, inhaling his scent as thought wanting to commit it to memory. And when he opened his eyes at last, he would gaze at him with such love to take the Elf's breath away. In those moments were time came to a breathless halt, Legolas could feel love radiating from the young Man in waves, waves he could almost see and touch and sense. Because there was no mask on the Man's face. No restrain dictated from either decorum, duty or position. And when the spell broke, it was because Estel had moved at last, and smiled and kissed his love with a touch full of promises. _

_That was bliss. If happiness had ever had a face or shape in the Music of Ilùvatar, it was this shape, Estel and Legolas's faces, their love and promises. _

* * * * *

There were no such things as winter and bitterness in fair Imladris. Even if there were, they would pass unseen by the strange Elf and the Man, lost as they were into each other, warm and safe in a world of their own. Yet, the sun was unusually pale that morning; dark clouds hang like wisp of smoke on the usually pristine blue sky, and it was beautiful even as it was ominous.

"The wind grows cold." Legolas had whispered softly, his fingers treading themselves through Estel's hair, now longer than it was when he'd been first allowed to show his love in such way. The Man gave a soft murmur in response, twirling about the fragile blossom he held between his fingers. Legolas smiled, blinking in the pale radiance that shone down on them. He looked back toward the Man laying with his head in the Elf's lap, and inspected his face as he himself inspected the flower. He looked young, innocent despite the sun-darkened skin and the rim of stubble grazing his chin. Beautiful, despite the worn clothes and dishevelled hair. And Legolas loved him. Loved him with a force that brought tears into his eyes, be them of joy or foreboding.

"Estel…" he whispered quietly. Feeling the lingering sadness in his love's tone Estel looked up, his hand and the bloom it held placed gingerly onto his belly. He gazed at Legolas silently, studying his face as thought wanting to impress it with fire in his memory and keep it there till the end of time. Legolas smiled at him, running one slender fingers on the lips he wished to kiss. "…I love you." He said simply, and then lowered him mouth on the one raising to meet him, and they kissed, gently, until Estel laid back down on the Elf's lap.

"I love you too. For always." The Man whispered quietly, and the Elf's eyes glazed over with ancient pain.

"Do not make promises you cannot keep, love."

Legolas expected the Man's spirits to darken then; expected to see him recoil and stood up offended by his bitterness, but Estel did naught but smile. And it was a smile so bright that Legolas could not suppress a gasp.

"I've thought about promising you forever since we first kissed my love, but I was loath to make a vow I was so likely to break. It took me three long years, but then I saw it. I saw it as it is." One of his hand sought and found Legolas's own, intertwining their fingers together even as with his other hand he placed the blossom in the Elf's hair, caressing the fair mane softly. "I may wither like a flower while you'll always be an ageless star. I may grow weak and old and then die, but that would be just my body." He said softly. And then, after the shortest pause, "My spirit would go on, and so would my love. You'd keep me within you forever, and I'd be by your side always, waiting for you beyond this life."

Legolas felt both the smile tug at his lips and the teardrop sting in his eyes, but he tried nothing to stop them, sure he would be powerless against their stubborn strength. However, even if he'd been able to tame them he would have capitulated swiftly in the light Estel's next words.

"Marry me, Legolas. Be mine for all eternity as I'll be yours." The Elf nodded, not trusting his voice, and then their lips met in a kiss that sealed their fate.

* * * * *

_Fate, it has funny ways to intertwine people's paths. Unfathomable and strange, if not maybe for those who posses magic mirrors of icy water. But I did not posses such a pretty tool, nor did Estel and Legolas, even thought they'd by and by gaze into the eyes of she who alone on Eä had such privilege. _

_Unknown to them, doom was descending swift and blind like a blade on them and their love. And funnier even it is that such doom started when I first entered their lives. Quiet as a thief, but powerful, powerful as storm my coming was. _

_Their promise of eternal love came to happen in great secrecy whilst I still resided in Lothlòrien with my grandmother the fair Galadriel. I clearly remember how she wouldn't leave her mirror's side in those days. My senses may be not keen as they were when I was immortal, and many of my memories may have faded into blurred voids, but I'll never forget the sense of foreboding that hung in the air like low mist in these days. For weeks already the Mirror had been calling for her, and not even once she forsook its call; spending days and nights alike filling her basin with clear water and watching it blur into images of a possible future. _

_But the night when I first stepped onto the cruel stage something unusual happened. The mirror called for her, and she called for me, after days and weeks and months and years spent leaving me to wonder. Never had I been admitted to gaze into the mirror, knowing only from other Elves' words that my fate was too precious to let me gaze at it. That it was linked with someone else's fate – the only one of our kin that could rival with my beauty, the beauty of fair Tinúviel, and that I'd only glimpsed few times from afar. _

_Legolas of Mirkwood. He who was the embodiment of a Star even as I was called like so. He who would take part in the destruction of the rising Shadow in the Est. He who would share with me, or so I was told, the same love. _

_Having been raised up with his fairness and our bond in mind, even my immortal's heart filled with girlish dreams of an eternity of love and joy to spend with him. _

_Oh, how wrong I was. I, who caused him the most pain. _

_But I was still so ingenuous at that time; still lost in my sweet dreams and still one with them. So it was with trepidation that I first stepped into the clearing where the Mirror of Galadriel stood. Trepidation and the sureness, that would soon crumble, that from that moment on my life would be but joyful. _

* * * * *

On the edge of the clearing, where looming trees turned into open air and swaying baby grass, Arwen stood for long moments, gazing at her grandmother with a feeling much akin adoration flowing her heart. She watched her collected moves, so graceful and hypnotically lingering. Moves that should not take her breath, being she an Elf raised among many and many with the same ethereal grace. Yet take her breath those moves did, for Galadriel was the epitome of that grace and fairness, mighty and old among the Eldar.

The glittering waters she'd collected in her silver basin reflected in her eyes like myriads of stars as she breathed on the water and made it ripple. Then she straightened, her hands clasped loosely before her, and turned to where Arwen was taking cover – because that's what she was doing, cowering and not merely waiting, though she may have not known it – and smiled. But it did not reach her eyes, that smile, two shadowed voids in the hollows of her face.

"Come to me, child." She ordered softly, and held a hand out for Arwen to take despite the distance. The younger maiden moved closer, nodding her greetings to the wise being there standing, and stepped on the foot of the pedestal. She leaned over the mirror with an excited smile, and Galadriel lowered her lids to see in her mind what her granddaughter would with her eyes. Like twilight giving way to dawn, the dark waters in the mirror swayed and opened to a hazy light. First to appear in the flowing depths was a face so fair it made Arwen's chest constrict. Her hand went to her chest, and merrily she laughed as she watched Legolas of Mirkwood and she herself embrace like old friends would. Like siblings; or lovers even, and for the latter her heart hoped.

They stood in the green gardens of a city that was not of the Elves, and yet so magnificent that more than one would be fooled into thinking otherwise. It had slender white walls, and standards of a White Three flowed in the warm wind. A crown was upon the Three and Seven Stars stood about it like adorning jewels. It was a symbol that puzzled the Lady even as she smiled still, for she recognized it at the emblem of Gondor. She stood looking at the figures locking gazes in the water for a long moment, and then the vision shifted. Legolas stood now alone, perforating the looming shadows with his keen eyes, and many stood beside him, rows and rows of blonde humans, and even a Dwarf came forth and laughed with him. The vision shifted again, and Legolas stood now in fair Lothlórien clad in garb of silver. And so vivid was his image that she barely restrained herself from running to the glade where he stood to greet him.

Like the currents of the Ocean the surface of the mirror rippled and shifted, and indeed there was she again the water. She was enthralled with a mortal this time, and her gaze was sad and ominous as she walked the greens of Cerin Amroth by his side. Arwen's smile faded into a frown, not understanding the vision and all but aching to see the fair Legolas again, for a feeling of love and devotion had blossomed in her heart since she first laid eyes on him. But when she did see him again, he was laying on the cold ground, his tunic red from his own blood and a feathered arrow embedded on his chest – an arrow that bore the sings of her native lands and of the House of Elrond. The symbols of her own family.

She gave a cry and stumbled backwards, a hand pressed against her mouth in silent shock.

Her Grandmother's voice came to her then, like all the times she needed reassurance and help. But this time, it did not bring aid, and the bitter taste of dread coated Arwen's mouth.

"Such a pity that a warrior as fine as he must be lost so soon." Galadriel said ruefully, giving her head a slight toss. "One of the Stars of our kin for not only beauty but also skill and soul, gone to waste so young. Alas! He will likely not see the dawn in three months hence." Galadriel spoke softly, pain clear in her dulcet tones. Why did her voice bite into Arwen's skin like bitter wind, then?

"But I was told…" The Lady of Rivendell fought for words for the longest moment. She'd been told she was bonded to that fair creature. That she'd been brought to Lòrien to wait for the moment chosen by the Valar for their meeting. That the greatest love on Eä would have led them to meet. Then why had she just witnessed his death? She tried to ask this. This and much more, but she found her mouth dry, and nothing but broken words escaped her lips. "…we would meet because of love… but the arrow… the *arrow*…" She looked up with the lost eyes of the child she'd never been, the ageless daughter of the Elves. Galadriel smiled at her, her own eyes flashing cold like blue gemstones.

"And love will lead you to meet him. For he loves someone that you'll steal from him." Arwen gave a horrified cry, seeing her hopes all crumble like castles of sand in the rage of a storm. Galadriel stepped forward, and Arwen felt arms encircle her like bounds of ice. She wanted to break free but was powerless: rarely does a lost soul choose who takes her in.

"My Mirror shows only one future child, for only one is the tomorrow waiting for us. At times it shows the unbiased truth, at times just petty illusions to fool the poor of heart: illusions that will come to be the moment they try to prevent them from happening.

"It can choose what to show, truths or dreams, but never it offers more than one vision. This is its rule." Galadriel's arms tightened around her, and leaning closer still she let her whisper fan against Arwen's ear, her soft voice inebriating like the sweetest wine. "Yet when it comes to you and the fair Prince my child, the Mirror shows more truths and more futures among which we can choose. All that is sure is that a Man will come, and through love will bind to him one of you. His heart made its choice already it seems, for the Man and the fair Prince of Mirkwood are bounded by a love barely within the reach of words. But the Man has yet to meet you, has he not?" Arwen nodded, dim in her understanding, and found herself shivering in the embrace that so many times she'd sought. Galadriel pulled back some, smiling her appreciation. But for first time the kind token did not make Arwen think of golden flowers and endless Spring.

Abruptly and yet gracefully –always gracefully- the elder Elf stepped away and the hands she'd pressed against Arwen's back were now held clasped loosely before her.

"Bitter shadows are awakening in the East my child, and it is in your hands that lies the destiny of us all. In your hands, and in the choices of your heart. I know your heart does not sing for this one Man, and that you'll find cruel what I'll ask you to do. More than once you'll be tempted to step away from me hence on, but I warn you: there's more at stake than the happiness of one or two, and I alone known of everything that might come to be. Much blood will be shed, and many lives lost, but each and every dream blanches in the light of Eä's sake." Then she turned to stare at Arwen. Something incredibly sad wafted by her gaze, and her voice became suddenly lower and incredibly powerful, as anything that holds the ring of truth. "I know your heart's desire child. And you'll be granted it and praised for your choice even, if you'll do what I ask you."

* * * * *

_I remember clearly how my breath caught in my throat. I know of your heart's desire. That's what she told me. And I was filled with dread, because I desired the one thing an Elf should never wish for, and should never obtain. _

_Death. _

_Mortality. _

_The freedom to choose and feel and never let go, and that the passing of time brings. _

_I did not understand what would happen then, so I agreed to obey her. _

_Like she prophesised that day I came close to hate her at one moment in time, due to what she asked me to do. Elves do not hate, I know it; but I was never Elf enough to be that perfect. So I hated her. With a passion. And desired to have the strength to break free from the spider web she had wound around me and the two lovers. But how that hate came to be, and what I feel for her now is no matter of importance at this point of my tale. It will be revealed later, if enough strength there's left in me to write so long. Will it suffice for you to know that if there was someone that was hurt in this tale, it was her. If someone bled, within or without the stage, it was also her. _

_Either way, for good or bad, that was my beginning. And that was also my end. True to my Grandmother's wishes I went to Rivendell, and found it void of Legolas and Estel and both my siblings, who were gone running the wilderness to accomplish great deeds. Knowing from before what I had to do, I stayed in my Father's house waiting for the day in which Estel would fall for me. In those days of peace and wordless wait I would often question how could he choose me over Legolas, since I saw the depths of their bond in my mind and heart. The Lady of the Woods showed it to me, their love. And it amazed and moved like I never thought possible, making of me its willing slave. So questions and guilt bothered me as I prepared myself to come in between the two lovers. They eat at my heart with cold fangs, vicious and unpitying, adding to the confusion inside my mind. And when I saw torturing myself brought no answer to me, I merely settled for quiet hope, knowing very little of what was to come. _

_But Legolas… he must have known somehow. _

_What was about to happen… even if he had not the gift of foreseeing, he must have known it. The urgent kisses, the way his touches became suddenly bolder, warmer, almost scorching with passion over Estel's skin. And the way he finally consented to become one with his love the night before they left Rivendell, after stating he was still too young for three years – an excruciating eternity for a human such as Estel, but a mere heartbeat to him. _

_He must have sensed it. To a deeper level than consciousness he must have known it all along, and better than me who saw it in the mirror of Galadriel. And now that tragedy was about to strike, he was powerless against his own desire to prove to Estel how deep their bond ran. Deeper than friendship, deeper than companionship and deeper than love. A bond that went beyond words, be them the simple idioms of mortals or the ageless melodies of Elves. _

_And with this feeling in mind, and tears again staining their eyes, though not of grief anymore, they took the ultimate step in proving they were one. But when it was time for words again, after the time for loving had come and gone, once more there was grief in the air. Soft and sweet as a melody; the same sweet pain than comes hand in hand with each tender love, but painful nonetheless, for Elves and Men alike. _

* * * * *

"Legolas, promise me something."

"Anything, my hope."

"If… *when* I'll be gone, please, keep on living. For me. For *us*. Go to the West if you will, but never stop living, and doing it with hope and love."

"You're my Hope, Estel. Once you'll be gone, I won't have any hope to myself. And love, you say? None can love without his heart. And when you'll leave me, you'll take my heart with you. So this is my promise to you, Estel: my heart with yours, forever."

"Legolas…"

"Estel, why do you smile so? Don't you believe me?"

"I believe you. That's why I smile. But please, *please*, promise me you'll live. When we'll be forced apart, rather than the sorrow of farewell, try to hold on all the memories of us you'll have inside your heart. And if you should still fall into despair, remember that I my love for you will continue on beyond this world. No matter where you'll be, though it may be a distant land, if you listen hard, you'll hear my voice. Always."

And the Elf surprised the Man with an Embrace then, and naked skin kissed naked skin, hot and slick, as Legolas committed the feel of his love to memory.

_"Amin mela lle." _

"…Legolas?"

_"Amin mela lle." _

* * * * *

_I wondered once if there could exist someone that would be moved not by such a deep emotion, such devotion; this complete lack of conceit and negative thoughts, all drowned in the light of the other's sake. I think… no, I know that even Sauron -even Morgoth himself- would have been driven to unconscious tears by such purity. I wonder then, I still do, why weren't the Valar moved? I think they were not moved, because they never saw this love. And if they did not see it, it was because they never looked its way, lost as they were gazing into the shadows of Mordor in foreboding wait. _

_Nothing of what happened afterwards would have ever come to be, had the Valar seen this love. Because they would have discarded every thought of war, forgotten about Eä whole, to protect it. But alas! They did not turn in time, and what was sacred and precious was all too soon lost in hate and blood. I hope they'll see it now, this one wonderful love, with my words' help. _

_That's the reason why I'm writing. Not the only one, but the most important indeed: with the secret hope to see a miracle come to light this tale of mine. _

_Because this is where my tale tinges with the darkest black, all thoughts of pure love and sweet kisses forgotten for now. Tragedy struck the two Princes while they were away from the Last Homely House. An arrow with the symbols of my own Father was shoot and found its mark. Cries that shattered the skies, ominous and hurtful, were let loose. Blood befell a lonely battlefield like fine rain. Thought was drowned and rage let loose. Love was tested and love was lost. Love prevailed and love fell short. _

_And as the twins ran against wind with the burden of an hopeless hope heavy in their arms, Estel grieved and hurt and forgot, and Legolas… Legolas fell deep in the darkest of slumbers; fell into it and would have never woken up, hadn't I followed Galadriel's commands. _

* * * * *

Elbereth looks up from Arwen's book, gazing expectantly into her husband's eyes. She silently inquires him about his thoughts, but he avoids her stare and with a thoughtful frown beckons her to read on. And read on she does, giving a small nod born of respect and courtesy. But not before she lets the wind of Lòrien carry these words:

"I need not to read more. I think the son of Arathorn is worth. I know it now: his love for the Elf was pure." But Manwe shakes his head and sighs, and turning he gazes long into the West even as his wife begins reading again.

"I wish to know more. I need to know more, before I choose."

Tbc.

**_*has a coughing fit* Damn influenza… *sneezes* *looks up sheepishly* Uhm… yeah. I tried to be all mysterious-like and yet hint at what will happen in the next chapter(s). I hope I did good. And I hope this wasn't too short and lived up to your expectations, too. What I've in mind is twisted. Oh, I *love* plot-turns, and nothing in my fics is ever what it seems. _**

**_I admit I'm thinking about writing a version of this in my mother tongue now, but this may be just a stupid idea driven into my mind by the fever. *sneezes again* If you've got time, please drop me a review and tell me what you think of this fic - your reviews keep me going. =)_**


	3. Pain

**_Title:_**_ Book of Days _

**_Chapter: _**_03 – Pain _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi -Nemesi82@hotmail.com _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. _

**_Note: _**_**CHAPTER SPOILER**I've little knowledge of Elven marriages, but as far as I know, Elves mate for life, and making love is like getting married for them. Estel and Legolas did make love, so it means they're married now. In case that's not correct, and there's indeed a specific Elven wedding rite, please imagine that Legolas and Estel went through it in a scene not showed in the fic. ^_^ _

**_Note 2: _**_Sorry if it took me so long to post this, but it seems I can't write Aragolas lately… o_O Valar, I hope it will be over soon! *whimpers* I hate it when writer's block strikes… _

**_Rating:_**_ R_  
  
  


* * * * *

_Elves, what a strange kin we are. With the wind in our hair and light upon our brows, stars shine in our eyes. Immortal we are, and beautiful as only the first children of Ilùvatar could be. Wise, wisest than any other; strong, pure and fair. Or so we're told, for we do not dwell often on such kind of thoughts. Indeed, an Elf holds little fascination with others like him. But what I cannot deny, even now that I'm no more an Elf, is that we're quick to sing and laugh as we're with swords and bows._

_My brothers… thought I've seen them for little precious time, I know them deeply, like I could know only myself. And indeed they often wore smiles on their fair faces, and laughter spilled from their lips like music. But those smiles and those laughs, kind hearted as they were, often served only to remind Estel that, in all his merits, he was but a mere human. They may have hurt him, those laughs and those smiles, but he never let it show, knowing deep within himself that those he regarded as brothers would never intentionally hurt him._

_But they did._

_Never deliberately, never purposefully, but they still did all the same. Reminding him with their mirth of his humanity, as thought it was a burden, a punishment he was bound to carry on his sinless shoulders. Each time he failed to be as special as they were, their laughs would come, and like shards of broken glass seed themselves under his skin and spread pain from there._

_That cancerous pain, that constant remind, thought unplanned, made him blind to his own merits. Because he was indeed special, though not Elf. And this lack of his led to tragedies greater than any would ever expect. Had he seen the skill that was in him, the accuracy he was capable of, he would have been able to see. See what was happening to Legolas, and to him. He would have never believed, even for a moment, that all that happened was his fault. And thus, not deeming himself responsible, not blinded by his grief and guilt and regret, he wouldn't have lost himself as he did._

* * * * * 

Estel carefully notched the arrow on its string; slowly, with the ease born of years of practice. He stood aiming at the tired trunk of an old tree for longer than any Elf or any Human should, and all to be sure his shot would be true to its mark.

But when he let the arrow go, it missed the target's core, even if just of few inches, and disappointment rose to coat Estel's mouth like the bitterest bile. Few feet behind him three Elves stood, his companions in this quest to discover and kill Orcs. Two of them laughed, while the third stood straight, his head tilted pensively.

"After all this years it's a marvel how he still can't succeed in a skill as easy as archery." One of the darker Elves, the oldest of the trio, chided. Beside him his twin stood, arms folded across his chest as it rippled with laughter.

"Indeed. Estel, when are you going to show us a shot worth of this name?"

"I tried." The Man mumbled, and it was so low as thought meant only for himself to hear. But those behind him heard it all the same, and laughed. At least two of them did, for Legolas still stood gazing thoughtfully at Estel's arrow.

"Estel?" he shook himself at last, and called out for the Man in a low voice. Immediately Estel's eyes were on him — squinted, as though the Man expected Legolas to laugh as well, and yet burning with the warm light of love. Legolas smiled at him, and his eyes flickered briefly to where the arrow stood embedded in the tree, beckoning Estel's own eyes to follow them. "Your arrow hit the trunk but an inch from where Elladan placed the centre of the target. It's an awesome result, if you were to ask me." Some semblance of delight came to Estel's eyes, but the hurt still lingered like a foul sore. Legolas could see it, even if the Man's face was concealed almost completely to him, turned toward the target as he was.

"Any Elf would have done better." Elladan reminded, and Elrohir shrugged.

"Very true." He said.

Legolas watched as Estel's tentative smiled died on his lips; watched as the muscles on the angular cheek trembled in the effort of keeping back either tears or hoarse replies. Then the Elf turned to the twins; he was cross and vaguely hurt himself, but it all lied concealed behind a teasing grin.

"Do I need to remind you Estel is human?" he tilted his head and regarded the twins sideways, watching them through his lashes. "And young in the reckoning of both his and our kin, too. He's but twenty, and neither you two nor me was this good at this age."

At first Estel thought about denying it, but when he saw the look on Legolas's face, determined and trusting and hurt, he decided to let the matter slide. He looked away, his eyes turning shuttered as he reflected yet again on his faults and merits. As his mind wandered he curled his fingers painfully around his bow self-consciously. He did so to merely give his hands something else to do other than drawing blood from his own palms as he clenched them; but for a second he did toy with the notion of breaking the bow in two and let the shards run through his hands, just to see what would hurt more – his flesh, or his hurt pride, his heart. After all, who would care if the worthless human got hurt?

_//You fool, Legolas would. He loves you. He believes in you.// _

He released the bow as some semblance of lucidity returned to his eyes, and Estel woke himself up from his reverie just in time to catch Legolas's last words.

"…so tell me now, if he's so capable, what do you think he will do in a few years from now? Wonders, I assure you. Wonders." Legolas stood, glaring at the twin sons of Elrond with his arms crossed against his chest. "Estel may be human, but he's strong, and clever, and a light burns in him that many an Elf would envy him. I trust him with my life, and I know he will never breach my trust. My heart is his, and in him resides all my hope." Those were the exact words he used to end his speech, his eyes now aflame with some strong emotion, and Estel felt the bow slid from his fingers and drop feather-light on the ground. The only thing he knew in that moment was that he would not let Legolas down. He would live his life to the fullest, and do always his best – for him. Only for him.

Silence befell the clearing, heavy and oppressive, but it was broken easily when Elladan smiled, the sun blanching in comparison.

"You speak true words, _Legolas Thranduilionn*_" The flaxen Prince acknowledged those words with a polite bow of his head even as the other Elf sauntered deeper into the forest, his own weapon at the ready. Elrohir went after his brother, swift and yet extremely collected, and he too was smiling.

"But each praise your lips utter to our dear Estel, is born of love and thus lessens in truth. Estel, you'd better improve and soon, if you do not want your beloved to lose his face in front of the rest of his kin." Legolas raised an eyebrow at the retreating Elves, the smile back on his lips as well.

"The day will come when you'll be glad to fight with Estel by your side." He foretold them, but then twins heeded him not, and with swift feet disappeared through the trees. Only when nothing remained of them, not even the distant sound of their laughter, did Legolas turn to his love.

He walked towards where the Man stood amazed, and wrapped his arms around Estel's waist, leaning gingerly against him.

"The twins mean you no ill, love. They merely jest, and you know it."

"It's their own way to prompt me, I guess." Estel conceded slowly, his displeasure fading some as he tucked the Elf's lithe form in his arms. "But I wonder… I wonder if I'll ever be as good as them."

"You'll be thousand times better than them, love." The Elf said softly, his warm breath wafting across Estel's neck, having he tucked his head under the Man's chin. "Soon enough they'll be no match to you, and they'll laugh _with_ you, and not _of_ you anymore."

Sighing, Estel pulled away, looking into Legolas's eyes for an answer to his torment. He came up with the same one those eyes always gave him - they wanted him to believe. Believe in them, believe in Legolas, in their love, and in himself.

And he _needed_ to believe. 

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Estel managed to smile faintly after admiring one more moment the wondrous creature in his arms. 

"I don't quite think you're right," he said, kissing the Elf's forehead once. "But for you, I'll try to believe." Legolas nodded, expression warm. 

"_Mára*. _I know you'll see the goodness in you one day, Estel. And I pray this day is close to be." He said, cupping Estel's cheek. He stood gazing in the Man's eyes for some moments, telling him without words all the reassurances he needed hearing. Then he cocked his head to one side, a smug glint stealing suddenly into his eyes. "Or perhaps I should stop praying and just take you as my apprentice once more, seeing how lacking you still are." Estel gave a little noise born of shock, but Legolas knew better than believing such pretence. So he placed one finger on the Man's chin, pulling gently even as he hovered closer, and said, "I know you wouldn't mind it, _herven nín_*."

It was in that moment that everything stopped. And even Estel found it hard to breath for a long moment. The appellative was new to both Legolas and he, having neither ever used it before. But Estel was no fool, and being the Man wise in Elven-lore, he was stunned by the immensity of such small words.

"…Legolas?" He asked shakily. He seemed on the verge of shouting, struggling against unseen walls, but lacked the energy for anything exceeding that breathless whisper.

The Elf let out a gentle chuckle, and tilting his head he smiled at his love in a way that made him look both wise and impish.

"Have the long years you've spent living among Elves taught you nothing about our customs?" He chided gently, but did not wait for him to respond, knowing what the answer would be already. "When an Elf falls in love, rarely it isn't for forever. And when we bond ourselves to the one we love, when we promise each other love and loyalty aloud, and with him become one-" His smile turned sweeter, and the Elf took a moment to wound his arms around the Man's neck, pressing their bodies closer and their foreheads together. "-it is a rite equal to the wedding ceremonies of your own kin, love. A marriage done with no established ritual or witness, but not less true, being it born of mutual desire and consent and love."

Estel guided the Elf deeper into his embrace, and dipping his head he pressed his cheek to the top of Legolas's head.

"I knew." He said softly. "But hearing you calling me like so…" he hesitated a moment, and then softly, he murmured: "Say it again… _herven nín_." Legolas laughed again, his chest rippling against Estel's own.

_"Herven nín…" _

"Again."

"Herven nín …"

* * * * *

_Time drew close to the End of the Third Era, as in only sixty and eight years would Barad-dûr subside and would Sauron perish. Days filled of much and many marvels drew close, and indeed many unforgettable facts marked this one year, as if to better pinpoint it in the times to come._

_Legolas bonded himself to his beloved in a sacred pledge and I travelled back to Imladris, true; but the ever-growing menace in the East was not idle either. Sauron declared himself openly at last, and foul creatures gathered under the shadows of the Tower he was rebuilding. Ringwraiths, ruined souls slaved by the Ring's will, reoccupied Dol Goldur once more, coming to dwell halfway between Lothlorien and Legolas's own native woods. Bitter shadows, cold as winter and dark as countless nights, spread over Middle Earth. Sensing their Master's voice, creatures from all Middle Earth began moving, whispering excitedly in their secluded nestles; and dispatching death and destruction was once again in their power and will, and no matter how good the Dunedaìn, Elves and Gondorian people fought, innocent blood was all too often spilled._

_It came to pass that a small host of those very foul creatures met the smaller company of warriors Legolas and Estel were part of. And, crazy with the excitement of their Master's coming, they assaulted that company, crashing onto them like the dark waves of a stormed Ocean, and leaving them no chance of retreat._

* * * * *

Orcs swarmed like locusts in the small clearing, hissing and sounding like one thousand angry rattlesnakes. Estel stood in the very eye of the storm, his breathing jagged and sweat burning in his eyes. But great was his skill, and many Orcs fell under his sword. 

Though he'd been separated from Legolas and couldn't ear his bow singing anymore, he could still tell the Elf was close by and letting his short knife taste some Orc-blood. Where the twins were he did not know, and though he confided in their ability, their absence worried him. Elladan and Elrohir hadn't returned yet, and very well knowing both their hatred for Orcs and the hideous clamour those foul creatures were making, Estel was sure their delay was not their doing. They'd been probably attacked – or worst – by another group of Orcs.

Brought back to the present circumstances by a particularly strong attack, he grimaced as he parried it. Though exhausted he swung his sword-arm out, and felt another Orc go down. As the fall of the foul creature gave him few seconds to rest, Estel found himself looking up in search of Legolas. He didn't posses the Elven gift of vision or any particular ability in that sense, but he always felt it deep within him when something terrible was about to happen to those he loved. And his eyes narrowed as a sudden surge of fear for Legolas's safety swept through him. Glancing about him Estel noticed with relief that but few more Orcs were left, and most of those were hindered by bleeding gashes.

They were winning, he realized. Against the odds, they were winning.

Yet, even as he rejoiced, a vision straight from a nightmare presented itself to his eyes. Legolas had broken through the Orcs lines up to where their chieftain stood wholly clad in black and dappled with blood. The foul creature was advancing menacingly on Legolas, wielding his short sword this way and that; and Estel couldn't suppress the cry of distress that rose to his lips. He tried to scamper towards his love, summoning up every ounce of strength left in his tired limbs. But Orcs were suddenly on him, leaping at him from all sides at once. It was as if they were following an unspoken command, toying with Estel as their Chieftain enthralled himself with the Elf.

Legolas did catch a glimpse of the danger Estel was in at the corner of his eye, but he could do nothing more than grit his teeth, focusing on finishing off as quick as possible the Orc-Chieftain. Orcs were wicked and violent, but they were stupid just as much – and Legolas knew that once their chieftain was down they would retreat for sure.

Pressing his eyes shut against the sight of Estel, the Elf turned toward his opponent and saw that he advanced still on him - slowly and with ease, as though an admired wanting to ask the fair Prince for a dance.

But that was no dance, and the Orc's feeling for the Elf were more like loathing than love.

But if indeed the Orc hated him, it was true that Legolas was not fond of him as well. He regarded the foul creature with burning fire, returning the look of fiery hate bestowed upon him. With the grace innate of his kin Legolas slowly outstretched his arm, fair even in the midst of such a perilous fight, and pointed his weapon directly at the Orc's chest. The Orc snarled, running his black tongue over a row of sharp, yellow teeth, and advanced still, swaying his sword about. Then at last they were close enough to cross their weapons; and they did just so, each studying the other as though wanting him to do the first move.

In actual fact, it's not sure who initiated the fight, but within mere seconds nothing existed for the two duellists but the other.

* * * * * 

_The outcome of the battle was inevitable; Legolas exceeded the Orc in agility and power and skill, and even though the beast was wicked and did not duel by rules but following a blind desire for blood, it was obvious Legolas would easily prevail._

_Yet, as I said, the Orc was wicked, and when he saw his death come closer and closer, and by the hand of someone he hated, his cunning mind drove him to a last, desperate attempt to save himself. Pretending to be dead he laid still on the forest floor; and Legolas, too worried about Estel to care one moment more for his fallen adversary, swivelled around, and indeed Estel was in need of him. So worried he was for his human love that he noticed not when the Orc behind him came back to sudden life, leaped to his feet and with an ominous cry charged him._

_But even among the commotion Estel saw it; he saw it all. For he was clever, and talented just as Legolas said, and knowing instinctively where danger would lay he'd looked towards Legolas._

_It all unfolded before his eyes in slow motion._

_Legolas turned around to face him, long hair swirling around. There was a dark shadow looming behind him and then hurtling down toward him – falling - falling as though for an embrace. Something twinkled in the shadow's bloody hands, cold and harsh. It was a sword, picking up speed as it descended towards Legolas, who was still unaware and had eyes only for Estel and the danger the Man himself was in._

_  
Barely realizing his own actions Estel drew his bow. He dived for a fallen Orc, and extracted the arrow embedded in the corpse. He looked up sharply, knowing even before seeing it that Legolas could not make it without help._

_So Estel…_

_…Estel shot an arrow._

_An arrow carved with the symbols of the house of Elrond._

_He shot it, and let it go toward its destiny as he turned around, attacked from behind from much more Orcs he alone could deal with._

Tbc

_* Thranduilionn (or Thranduliòn) = _Sindarin for "Son of Thranduil"

*_Mára = Quenya for "good"_

*_herven nín_ = Sindarin for "My husband". Actually, I think Legolas spoke Quenya (I really don't know…) and thus would have called Estel _"vernonya"_ but… well, _"herven nín"_ sounds way better… don't you think so too? ^^;;

***a phone rings insistently* **

**… **

**… **

**… *click* *the answering machine turns on* Regards, dear readers. You've reached Nemesi's current dome. Unfortunately, she's momentarily unavailable, hidden somewhere in the Fields of Fire of Mordor, trying to stay alive after writing such a cliffhanger… if you want to leave her a review, a critique, an opinion on how you think the story will go on from here, or if you simply want to threaten her for leaving you hanging like THAT, please record a message after the 'bip'. **

***BIIIIIP* **


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